You are my Family!
by Sumomo-Hitachiin
Summary: Arthur visits his best friend, and secret crush, Francis and gets the surprise of his life when he finds him crying. But what would this lively man possibly have to cry about?


Arthur held the tiny hands tightly as he approached the apartment next door to his. Whenever he reaches this door, his mouth runs dry and his heart starts pounding. He'd never been this nervous since his first date with his late wife, Giselle Jones-Kirkland. Something good came out of that marriage, though he was still saddened by the loss, his two sons. The oldest is six-year-old Alfred Jones, the one with the most energy. His youngest is Peter Kirkland, four years old. This one just wanted to be like his big brother. They would've had another brother, but he and Giselle died during the delivery. His name would've been Matthew.

"Daddy! Are we going to see Uncle Francey?" Alfred asked him. Arthur nodded slowly, taking in a deep breath before answering his son. "Yes, Al, we are," This man, Francis Bonnefy, has somehow found a way into the softest part of his heart. The two met when Arthur and his sons moved from London to Paris last year. Francis had accidentally stepped on the man's toe when he was moving boxes into his apartment. "Watch your bloody step, you frog!" he'd shouted. All Francis did was laugh. "My apologies, mon ami. Don't be so tense," After that, Francis had invited over to his house for a cup of tea ant the friendship started from there.

"Daddy," Peter called out, interrupting his reminiscing. "If we're here to see Uncle Francey, why aren't knocking on the door?" Arthur's eyes widened. That's right! They'd been standing at his door for five minutes and he hasn't even knocked yet. "Maybe it's because Daddy's scared of hi!" Alfred giggled, receiving a pluck on the head. "Shut it, you git!" Arthur scolded. Once he found the courage, he knocked on his friend's door. A few loud thumps shocked the three a little. It was three in the afternoon, Francis isn't one to sleep in late. Especially since he's the one nagging Arthur about getting a good night sleep.

The apartment door swung open, revealing a red-eyed Francis. A stray tear ran down his cheek when he waved at the kids. "Hey, how are you mes chéris?" He croaked. Arthur threw his house keys at Alfred. "Take Peter home, I'll be right there in a minute," he whispered. "Daddy, is Uncle Francey ok?" Peter whimpered. "Just go home, love. I'll be alright," Francis cooed. Alfred took his brother's hand and left the two be. It's not normal for Francis to be like this. What was going on with him today? He's usually so happy and full of life. Those eyes of his looked dead now. "Come on," Arthur yanked Francis his apartment, slamming the door closed. "Just what is wrong with you? You can tell me, you know?" The two sat on the couch with a glass table in front of them. On it were pictures of Francis, a man, and a child surrounded by candles. Arthur looked at the pictures and arched his eyebrow. Francis took a sip of the red wine that rested beside the picture of the child. "I... want you to talk to me, Francis," Arthur said lowly. "I've never seen you like this before. The boys are worried about you. Just... please tell me what's on your mind," Francis put down the glass. His tears came back again, but he didn't try to stop them. "Arthur, mon ami, I want to die." That answer, he wasn't ready for. "What?" he managed to say. Francis's body shifted so that his head fell onto Arthur's shoulder. "My heart hurts, Arthur. I'm so alone without them," Arthur ran his fingers through the man's hair. "My husband... was my life," that peaked his interest. "His name was Antonio and we were together for about eighteen years and married for ten out those eighteen years. He was the definition of happiness," Francis began. Arthur stomach coiled when Francis started sobbing. It hurt him more when he realized that he couldn't do anything about it.

"I met him when my university took us on a trip to Spain. The purpose of the trip was to use the Spanish language to the best of our ability, but I fell in love instead," he paused when a sob threatened to rise from his throat. "We were paired together as 'Español Amigos' , so he took me around his favorite parts of the city Madrid. It was kind of like a date. When the day ended, he took me to this restaurant called 'Amor'. It was there he told me that he was starting to fall for me," Arthur groaned when Francis took another sip of the wine. At this rate, he'll be too drunk to finish the story. "Some years later we got married and he said he wanted kids. So, we adopted a little Italian boy named Lovino," Arthur figured that it was Lovino and Antonio in the pictures. They did look like a real family. "But... when Lovino was four, he was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Antonio blamed it on himself, since he was always burning stuff in the kitchen," Francis cuddled closer to Arthur and whispered softly into the man's ear, "A month later, he shot himself." Francis felt his friend tense up. "He left me a note... it's beside that candle," he motioned for Arthur to grab it. The manilla paper was so close to the candle, the wax almost got to it. It was written in poor handwriting and in Spanish. Luckily, Francis knew what it said and read aloud:

_"My love, though I am gone, that doesn't mean I won't always be with you. The guilt I carry on my person was too much and I decided to die and not deal with it. Take care of my little Lovi, will you? It'll be hard for me to look at him when he's in a casket._

_I love you, Antonio."_

Francis took another deep breath before continuing on. "One year later, on the same date Antonio died, the cancer spread throughout most of Lovi's lungs. He died, Arthur. My son died," Arthur slammed the note back on the table. He was furious at this_ Antonio_ bastard. All he cared about was his own grief. How did he think Francis felt about watching his son die overtime? Selfish prick. "I've been alone for about three years now. Today is November 15th, the anniversary of their deaths. I do this every year, sitting here drinking and crying, wondering why he didn't take me with him-" a slap to his face stopped him from saying anymore. There were more tears in Arthur's eyes than in his own. He wondered why he was crying. Wasn't this _his_ mourning day? "Don't you _dare _say something like that! Don't you shed tears for that selfish bastard!" Arthur growled. Francis couldn't find the strength to get mad at him. "If you die, then that means I should die, too!" his voice cracked. That made Francis's eyes widen. "Mon ami, why-" "Remember when I told you my wife died? She took our son with her. Should I kill myself just to be with them when I have two sons who need me?" Arthur's voice raised painfully. Francis's head hung down as he shook it. "You family, Arthur. I don't have-" Arthur cut him off with a kiss on his lips. Arthur was relieved he when he didn't shove him away. Maybe this was what he needed, affection from another person. "What are we to you, Francis?" he asked when the kiss broke. "The boys and I care about you so much. If something happened to you..." he shook those thoughts from his head. It scared him more than anything to think like that. "We think of you as an important part of our family, so don't you _dare _say that you don't have anyone," His hand rose to his friend's face, brushing away a tear. "I love you, Francis. I love you more than you'll ever realize. When I came to this place, I thought it'd be just me and my boys. I didn't think I'd love anyone else ever again. You changed that for me," Before he knew it, he was sobbing into the man's shoulder. Francis's breath hitched at the first "I love you". Those words haven't been said to him so long. It felt amazing to have someone feel this way about him. The circumstances could've been better, but it was good enough. "Mon cher, Je t'aime, trop." he whispered to the Brit. "Je t'aime," Arthur repeated to the best of his ability.

The two laid together on the couch and eventually fell asleep. Their nap was interrupted by two little giggles and pokes. "Al! They sleepin'!" a tiny voice scolded. "Daddy! Uncle Francey! Wake up," Alfred screamed in his father's ear. Arthur shot up from his spot with an unmanly squeak. "Al! Peter!" Arthur growled once he for himself together. "Didn't I tell you two to stay home?" Peter whimpered and hid behind his big brother. "It's just that," Alfred began. "It's 9 o'clock and we didn't have dinner yet," Arthur's eyes widened and he checked his watch. "Bloody hell! Francis, wake up! You kept me here, so you're cooking tonight," Francis groaned out. "Non, mon cher, I want to love on you more," he wrapped his arms around a red-faced Arthur. The children giggled. "Don't be stupid, you frog! Get up!"


End file.
